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Reality Whitewash Lyrics

Artist: Crass
Album: Christ - The Album

The grey man at the wheelLooks around to see if there's some skirt he can stealHe doesn't really want to, he's just acting out a gameAnd in their own fucked up way, most people do the sameShe cleans the bathroom mirror so she can line her eyesAn expert in delusion, an artist in disguiseShe's not content with what she is, but she does the best she canBut she doesn't do it for herself, she does it for her manAnd meanwhile he's out hunting, this master of the huntCruising down the high street in his endless search for cuntAnd the posters on the hoardings encourage his pursuitGlossy ads, where men are men, and women simply cuteAnd the men are in their motorcars and the men have nerves of steelAnd they dreams of charlies angels as they firmly grip the wheelAnd they fantasise they're screwing in the back seat of the carFantasise they're fucking with a real life movie starFantasies to fill the gaps, to fill in every crackA whitewash of reality to hide the truth they lack.Now she's sponging down the cooker, on the surface all is fineHis dinner's in the oven cos he's doing overtimeShe switches on the telly, it makes her feel secureHelps confirm her way of life, who needs to ask for moreShe sees the happy family unit, wife and hubby on the screenThe perfect social unit, just like it's always beenShe's done the very best she canTo love and honour and obey her manAnd if she should ever doubt the wisdom of her choiceShe can turn on the television for its moderating voiceThe ads and weekly series are the proof she needsThat a life of boredom outweighs the deedsShe sits up till the epilogue and goes to bed aloneContent that when he's finished work he'll go straight homeMeanwhile he downs another scotch, the lady has a cokeAnd if he's asked about the wife he treats it as a joke"Hear the one about the you-know-what"He's got what it takes and he takes what he's gotHe took his woman and he'll take plenty moreShe took on a rat to keep the wolf from the doorThen maybe in her loneliness she'll want to have a childWho'll be taught the games of adulthood, boxed and filedAnother life to whitewash, to us a child is bornTo follow in its parents' tracks, the path's well wornFantasy and falsehood, truth and lieThe fucked up system they call realityThe system needs its servants, each birth is one moreGently talk of freedom as they quietly lock the doorCos the system needs its servants if the system's going to runNeeds its fodder for the workhouse, its targets for the gun.